Rant: Yeah. I’m beautiful.

It felt more of a compliment than the guy who snapped a picture of me on his phone at the local supermarket,
then proceeded to call his friends to tell them in a hoarse, frantic voice how “hot” I was.
I just stood there, staring in chock and not even managing to call him out on his hideous action. Did I want to make a scene? No. Better walk away, profoundly ashamed.

The thing is, I hear these things a lot. Me. Beautiful.
I am – beautiful.
I am –
No.

Of course, I immediately started to excuse myself for my runny makeup, messy hair, etcetera. He smiled. Beauty’s not in the makeup, he said.
I pretended to agree.
It is, in my case. I’m just good with the pen, you see. I’m not actually beautiful.
Right?
It would be terrifying.

Because beautiful makes people think of you as a painting, a sculpture, a walking bloody exhibit. Beautiful gives them the right to measure me, rate me, capture me, own me. I wouldn’t mind, right? Because I’m beautiful. Beautiful justifies interest up to the point where it transcends into creepiness, harassment and stalking. Beautiful destroys you.

People have this tendency, to feel drawn to beautiful things or people, perhaps, because, they are all, searching for what they’re, lacking, and when they look at you, because you have that full confident flair about you, that is why, you, shine, and it’s, a harrassment, having people stating things like “You’re beautiful”, but depending on who says it, then, we have the tendencies, to believe the person as just giving us a compliment, or that, they’re, creeps.

That’s a good point. I don’t mind being called or considered beautiful, and I don’t mind people telling me so, the issue is entirely in how they tell me. Face to face – absolutely okay. Whispered to friend behind back – annoying but still quite okay. “Telling” by rudely snapping a picture of you without permission and talking loudly to your friends about my “sex appeal”? Not alright. And thank you, for the sweet and insightful comment.